


we'll have to muddle through somehow

by youjik33



Category: The Darjeeling Limited (2007)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2787926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/pseuds/youjik33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He flipped open the cover of her book, wrote <i>To Rita. I missed you. Love, Jack.</i> Frowned at the word "love", but it was too late to cross it out now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll have to muddle through somehow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firstaudrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/gifts).



"'Thanks for using me,' he said. 

'You're welcome.'

The train groaned and jerked along the tracks, taking her out of his life forever."

 

There was a burst of applause. Jack looked up from the page, wetting his dry lips. He didn't really like doing these, but his publisher was paying for everything, and the turnout for this one was pretty good – probably about 30 people. Not bad for a tiny little independent bookstore in Ann Arbor, Michigan whose name he couldn't remember. Some weird pun about cats. 

He zoned out a little while the shop's co-owner-slash-manager announced the start of the Q&A portion, letting his eyes roam over the college hipster audience, until they caught someone else's. She was standing against the back wall, wearing an oversized sweater with black and navy stripes, coat over her arm, hair in a messy bun, eyes just as huge and deep as he remembered. He was so surprised that he came right back around to having no reaction at all. 

She disappeared at some point during the Q&A, and Jack had started to think he'd hallucinated her while he was signing books afterward until a well-read copy of _Invisible Ink and Other Stories_ was pushed across the table. 

"Make it out to Rita," she said.

He looked up, heart pounding. It really was _her_ , standing right in front of him four years after the train had carried her away, like his reading had summoned her – though it hadn't when he'd read it in New York, Philadelphia, or Columbus. He flipped open the cover of her book, wrote _To Rita. I missed you. Love, Jack._ Frowned at the word "love", but it was too late to cross it out now. 

"Want to go out for coffee?" she asked.

"Absolutely," Jack said. 

\---

He finally managed to escape twenty minutes later, putting on what he hoped was a suitably polite front and not being too obvious that he was trying to get away. Rita was waiting for him on the sidewalk, her black peacoat buttoned up to her chin. They were kissing before he even knew what was happening, her cheeks cupped in his hands. She smelled like mint shampoo.

"Sorry," he said when they pulled away, even though she'd been kissing him back.

She laughed, breathlessly. Nervously, he thought. "It's all right. It's good to see you."

"Yeah," he said. "What are you even doing here?"

"I came to see you, obviously. It was advertised in the school paper."

"The school paper? You're going to school here?"

"Grad school. Yes."

"Huh." He let her lead; they bumped shoulders on the crowded sidewalk.

"You shaved your mustache."

Jack touched his upper lip as though he'd forgotten. "Yeah. Are you disappointed?"

"No. I did like it, but I like you this way, too. You look younger." At some point, without his noticing, they'd started holding hands. 

Jack had never seen a town with a higher saturation of coffee shops than this one, but Rita seemed to be leading him somewhere specific. The door she finally ushered him through lead to a long, narrow room with one blank brick wall and one covered in terrible paintings; the tables were full of college kids and their laptops. A breathy female vocalist's acoustic version of _Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas_ wafted from the sound system. 

"Rita!" chirped the barista behind the counter. "Is this him?" She eyed Jack up and down from under the brim of her knit cap. "He's shorter than I expected."

Jack was a little offended, and a little confused, because she couldn't have been more than 5'1" herself.

"Jack, this is Miki. Miki, Jack. We're roommates."

"I've heard so much about you," Miki said. There was a glint in her eyes that made Jack squirm. "Did Rita tell you what she thought of your book?"

"Uh," Jack said, looking around helplessly. "We hadn't gotten to that yet."

"Well, she wasn't too thrilled you wrote a story about her without asking, you know."

"Miki," Rita said softly. "Gingerbread latte?"

"My stories are fictional!" Jack insisted, his voice pitching a bit higher than he'd intended. "Just... slightly inspired by real events." Miki had ducked behind the espresso machine and probably couldn't even hear him any more over its hissing, so he turned back to Rita. "Are you really mad? I changed your name. And I didn't think you'd ever read it."

"I was angry, at first. I picked the book up because I recognized your name, but I didn't think it was actually _you_. Then I just wanted to read everything you'd written." 

"You liked it that much?"

"No," Rita laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I did like it. But I just wanted to look inside your head. You're a very strange man, Jack Whitman."

"Everyone's strange."

"I know," she said. 

"And this isn't really fair," he continued. "You didn't write a book I can read based on your life, did you?"

"No."

"Then you've got me at a pretty huge disadvantage."

"You know, you could just try asking me about myself."

"Oh," he said. "I guess I could do that."

Miki handed Rita's gingerbread latte over the counter, immediately followed by a second for Jack. "I didn't order this," he said.

"On the house," Miki said. "You better treat her right."

Jack dropped a $20 bill into her tip jar.

\---

The latte was sweeter than he would have liked, but he was grateful for its warmth as they stepped back out into the cold. He didn't know if they were heading anywhere in particular, and he didn't really care.

"So," he said. "What's your major?"

"Anthropology."

"Really? A master's degree in anthropology?" When Rita nodded, he continued. "There much work in that field?"

"No, not at all," she said.

"...oh."

"Maybe I'll end up with a job at a museum or something. I just had to get away. It isn't that I don't love my family, but they had such set expectations for me and I wanted to explore things for myself, find out for myself what would make me happy. I took that job on the train because I wanted to travel, but it was worse than ever. The same narrow hallway, the same carpet, the same trays of snacks, the same tiny bedroom with no privacy at all, day after day. Even the tourists started to seem like the same people over and over. Except you. There was only one of you."

_So you never fucked anyone else against the bathroom wall?_ he thought, and took a drink to keep himself from blurting it out. Rita nudged him off the sidewalk and into a brick-lined pedestrian tunnel. Ann Arbor was a city that had grown around its college campus, and Jack wasn't sure which buildings were part of the school and which weren't. 

"So that's why you came here? To get away?"

"I wanted somewhere with a good school, not too big and not too small, with a real winter."

"And you're happy here?"

"Happy." She reflected on that word for what felt like a long time. "As happy as I am anywhere, I suppose. It's hard, you know, trying to find the balance between taking care of yourself and being a selfish asshole."

They had come out of the tunnel into the open air. Ivy-covered buildings sprawled in a V on either side of them, and the glass dome of a greenhouse shimmered just ahead; Jack veered toward it unconsciously. The condensation on the glass had been desecrated with graffiti, initials and contextless profanity and rags on Ohio State, and just above eye level someone had written _Peter is a fag._ Jack wondered who this Peter was, and erased the offending half of the sentence with the heel of his hand, leaving just _Peter is_.

"Your brother's name is Peter, isn't it?" Rita asked, watching him.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Obviously that wasn't about him. ....Francis is a lot more likely."

Her eyebrows drew together. "...are you saying you think your brother is gay?"

"I don't know. I wonder about him is all. He hasn't had a girlfriend practically since I can remember, but it's not really any of my business."

"Not your business? He's your brother. Aren't you close?"

"Close. I dunno. We got kicked off the train for macing each other, what makes you think we're close?"

"I can't imagine fighting like that with my siblings. We just sort of ignore each other most of the time. I think it takes a certain kind of closeness to be that passionate, I guess." 

"I worry about him," Jack said. The bottom of his latte held a glob of soggy gingerbread crumb residue, and he grimaced as he swallowed it. "But I think he's gonna be okay. And Peter's a lot happier since the baby came." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, flipping it open to a picture of a very serious-looking dark-haired boy. "My nephew." He couldn't quite keep the note of pride out of his voice. 

"He's very cute," Rita said with a smile. "He looks like you, a bit."

"You think so?" Jack had always thought Jamie looked like Peter, but with Alice's blue eyes. "We're all getting together for Christmas, at Peter and Alice's place, and I'm actually looking forward to it, so maybe we are close." Alice always sent their mother an invitation, but Jack thought the only chance she'd ever show up was if they had all entirely given up any hope she might. He put his wallet back into his pocket and shoved his empty coffee cup into a trash can on the corner. Rita paused, tilted her head back to finish the last of her drink, and did the same.

Jack fished in his coat pocket for his pack of cigarettes, stuffing one into his mouth and offering her the pack.

"I'm trying to quit," she said as she took it.

They turned a corner, finding themselves washed in bright lights from a movie theater marquee, advertising special holiday showings -- _It's a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, Die Hard_.

A knot of smokers huddled together on the sidewalk outside the movie theater, and Jack and Rita lingered on the edge of the group. Across the street was the darkened ghost of what had once been the world's first Borders bookstore, the outline of the letters still visible against the brick, a FOR LEASE sign in the window. He watched Rita blow a plume of smoke from between her lips, her face shining in the white theater lights.

"I never asked if you're single," he realized.

"I am, this time," she said. He thought her eyes seemed wistful.

"So where do you live?"

"I'm not inviting you back to my place, if that's what you're getting at," she laughed. "I live in rental housing with five roommates. No privacy at all."

"Oh." He couldn't hide his disappointment.

"Don't you have a hotel room?"

"Are you inviting yourself up to my room?"

"Maybe I am."

He ground his cigarette under his foot and leaned in to kiss her. This one wasn't like the others – slow, sweet, lingering, and with the promise that they could do it again. 

"Do you believe in fate?" Jack asked.

"I don't know," Rita said. "Maybe. Today I think I might."

"Come with me," he said. "To my brother's house, for Christmas. I mean-- I guess you're probably not Christian-"

"I'm agnostic, actually," she said.

"Really? Cool. So am I. So come. You're on winter break right now, right?"

"Well, yes, I am, but..."

"Peter and Alice won't mind. I can buy your plane ticket if you want."

"What," she said, "like I'm your kept woman?" She was smiling.

"No, no, not like that, just, I like being around you, okay? I want to keep talking to you. I want to learn everything about you. I can't just let tonight be it, just say goodbye after finally meeting you again. Thinking about it is driving me crazy."

"I don't know," she said. "I have work."

"You don't have to decide yet," he said. "Come spend the night with me. Decide in the morning. Or, hell, I'll give you my number and you can call me whenever you want."  
"All right," she said.

\---

Everything was different this time. Slow, for one, with no worries about being caught, and yet somehow it wasn't any less exciting. They kissed for a long time, both before and after, shared a cigarette despite the "no smoking" sign on the door.

Jack felt strange as he drifted on the edge of sleep, as though a part of him was missing, but he didn't seem to mind.

"They're going to be surprised," Rita murmured against his shoulder. Jack's arm was falling asleep under her head.

"Who is?"

"Your brothers. They'll be surprised to see me."

"Yeah," he said with a smile, kissing her hair. Maybe whatever was wasn't missing at all – maybe it had only changed. "Yeah, they will."


End file.
